The Hot Rocks Job
by Soquilii
Summary: The Leverage team, attempting to retrieve a funerary urn for the cousin of a former client, finds the simplest jobs are sometimes the most dangerous! Co-written with my friend and beta, Gilbert H. Karr, whose insight and valuable contributions greatly enhanced the quality of this story.
1. Chapter 1

A romantic couple's first real fight was usually motivated by something other than ensuing equipment failure and took place anywhere but on top of a ten-story building with cool night breezes blowing and ambient city light fading the stars above. Any other couple would be arguing adamantly about where to position the couch, or the frequency of spaghetti in the course of a week, or the fact that he'd let his eyes wander at girls walking through the park. _But then, we aren't any other couple_ , Hardison thought, exasperated.

'Listen to me, Parker. _Listen to me!_ Okay, _okay_. But make this the _last_ job, please? We can figure something else out. I'm just afraid of losing you, girl! There's other ways…'

He wasn't prepared for the intensity of Parker's anger. If something set her off, she usually kept a lid on it like a pressure cooker. She used weird little comments and did strange things sometimes to release the pressure in small, controlled bursts. Parker was a disciplined person; she rarely just lost it. Hardison had seen her upset but never this angry. She was shaking with rage; her reddened face scowled at him frighteningly. He was taken aback.

'There's _gotta_ be some other way, Parker…' he repeated, trying to sound reasonable.

 _'Not for me!'_ she yelled in his face _._ 'Just because you're a wuss doesn't mean you can make one out of me! You're _not_ going to tell me to stop something Archie taught me; something I've been doing since I was sixteen years old! And for some jobs, there _are_ no other ways! You know that! Nate knows that! What should I do, just wave at security and ride the elevator up? _Forget it_ , Hardison!'

And there the fight ended abruptly, for Parker, dressed in black from head to toe and equipped with her Mark II Rig and backpack, wheeled about and stalked off, leaving Hardison reaching his arms to her in vain. 'But, Baby Girl…'

It was no use. Parker might be _twenty pounds of crazy_ as Eliot described her, but to Hardison she was a hundred pounds of stubborn in a ziplock. It wasn't good for her to get so upset just as they were beginning a job, but there was no calling her back now. The clock was ticking.


	2. Chapter 2

**ONE WEEK AGO**

The usually noisy beer pub was quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. For Nate Ford, hung over from the previous night of dissipation, the low hum of conversation from only three or four customers was soothing. He decided to have a drink before he met his prospective client. _Hair of the dog_ , his father had told him more than once. _Y'get good'n drunk the night before, son, have y'self another the next morning…or whenever you wake up. Helps, son. Dunno how, but it helps._

The bartender, bless him, had Nate's Irish poured and ready. Nate reached unsteadily for the glass, lifted it and felt his symptoms ease after the first sip spilled down his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he spied what had to be his new client - a young woman in obvious distress, seated alone by the window, pulling tissues out of a little cellophane packet. He groaned inwardly. She was early.

He finished his drink, straightened his collar and patted down his unruly hair which defiantly sprang right back up. Arranging his face in what he hoped was the expression of a sober professional, he sauntered over to greet her.

[~~~~~]

'Do you remember Betty Carter, Mr. Ford? She referred me to you. She said you'd probably be able to help me.'

'Betty Carter, Betty Carter…ah…yes, she helped us with that wine…um, project we were involved in a while back. How do you know her?'

'We're cousins. My mother's sister's daughter.'

'Ah,' said Nate. 'Would, ah, would you like anything to drink?'

'Just a coke, thanks.'

Nate signaled the bartender who swiftly brought a glass of iced coke and another Irish for Nate. Bless him.

'Why, uh, don't you tell me what the problem is…why Betty thought I could help you…what it is you want me to do for you.' Nate took a sip of his fresh drink and leaned forward, waiting.

Over the next half hour, he learned that his prospective client's name was Denise Resharde, that she was an only child, both her parents were dead and she had been inexplicably cut out of her father's will. Five years ago her father, then aged 75, had answered a Craigslist ad and had hooked up with a woman from Denmark.

'Mr. Ford, my stepmother literally took control of my father and his affairs after my mother died…and he let her do it. No, he wasn't senile. He was in full command of his faculties,' she said in answer to Nate's questions. 'At least, I thought he was. Out of respect for Dad I tried to get along with her but the woman hated me. It was a train wreck.'

'When did your father die?'

'Six months ago.'

'Do you have a copy of the will? A notarized copy?'

'Yes, I do.' She handed the stapled, blue-backed document to Nate. He riffled through it.

'As you can see, Dad was well off but not fabulously rich. I haven't been privy to my father's affairs for the last five years but whatever is there, I'm willing to let her have it all and walk away...except for just a few things I'd like to have, things I feel are rightfully mine, that she's keeping from me out of what I think is pure spite.'

'What are those, Miss Resharde?'

'I want my mother's jewelry back – I have pictures of her wedding rings, some nice necklaces, a bracelet, and my mother wearing them - and I want my father's cremains.'

Nate took another sip of his whiskey and looked blearily up at her. 'Uh, pardon me, your father's what?'

'His cremains. He was cremated, Mr. Ford. The ashes and bits of bone are called…'

'Yes, yes, I know. It's just that…well, no one ever asked me to retrieve anything like this before. Also, it just seems a little…much…that you're asking my team to…I mean, these are rather mundane things. There are less drastic measures. Have you tried the direct route? Just come out and asked her for these things?'

In answer to Nate's question, Denise produced a small tape recorder from her bag and pressed the play button. The sound came through in a tinny echo but clear enough to identify the person in question.

 _'Um…listen, Mom…?'_ Denise was heard to ask in a respectful tone.

A woman's voice answered, a cold, unfeeling voice with a thick Scandinavian accent _. 'I have told you so many times, Denise, not to call me that. Just because I married your father does not mean I am your stepmother! My relationship with my husband has nothing to do with you. You talk to me, you call me Mrs. Rescharde. You ever call me Mom again I will slap you. I do not like that designation.'_

 _'All right…my apologies, Mrs. Rescharde. I just…just wanted to ask you, now that Dad's gone…if I could please have my mother's jewelry. And…and I wanted to bury Dad by my mother, but the funeral home tells me they released his ashes to you.'_

 _'That is correct. I have those and everything of value locked in the safe at home.'_

Nate heard the flick of a cigarette lighter. The woman was apparently inhaling deeply; she expelled the smoke so forcefully it was audible.

 _'You want the jewelry, do you? Why?'_

'What an obtuse question,' Nate remarked in the short pause that followed.

'That's the very thing I was thinking at the time,' said Denise. On the tape, her voice answered in the same respectful tone. Nate marveled at her patience.

 _'Just…just for the sentiment. I mean…she was my own mother. Her will left her things to Dad. Now that he's gone, I'd just like to have something of hers to remember her by.'_

 _'Do you not have photographs of your mother, Denise? Look at them to remember her by._ _Jacques'_ _will left everything to me. Everything! Your name isn't on one page of that document.'_

 _'I realize that, although I don't understand it. Dad and I had a good relationship, he never said he was cutting me out of his will. Why would he do that? I'm their only child, Mrs. Resharde. It just seems only fair that I be allowed to have just a little that belonged to my parents.'_

 _'It is too bad about your mother but her things fall under the will of your father; everything does. He was my husband. I am therefore taking what is rightfully mine, including his urn, with me when I go home.'_

 _'Home?'_

 _'Yes, I'm going back to Denmark.'_

 _'Oh, no…please, Mrs. Resharde! I beg you! Don't take my Dad's -'_

Nate half expected to hear a slap resound through the recorder; instead, the thumping of heels and the hiss of a hydraulic door could be heard. Nate knocked back the last of his Irish and shook his head sympathetically.

'She sounds like a hard case. Actually, she's quite the bitch. Married your father for what she could get out of him.'

'That's an understatement, Mr. Ford.'

'Where did you record this? At her apartment?'

'No, at the funeral home. It takes a week for cremains to come back from the crematorium and I went to pick up the urn. She had already taken it home; she was just signing some final paperwork. She won't let me in Dad's apartment and I don't have a key, not any more. I did when Mom was alive but she changed the locks. I remember Dad telling me he bought a safe for her but I was never given the combination to it, or key, or whatever it is you use to open a safe. She changed Dad's phone number too; he only had a land line.'

'Cell phone? Email?'

'If she uses them, I don't have them. It's like she just locked Dad away from me. Look, if I can't get the jewelry I'll deal with it, but what I'd like more than anything is to know that my dad is resting beside my mother where he belongs. Mom died nearly seven years ago; her cremains are under a double stone in Finley Sunset Hills. Dad's name is already carved on the stone!' Denise shook her head, on the verge of tears. 'I…I just couldn't believe Dad remarried so quickly…and off Craigslist, of all places…'

Nate winced. 'You know, Denise, he could have had dementia, maybe mild enough for no one to notice, but enough to allow him to make a big mistake. You'd be surprised at how often something like this happens.'

'I only want what's fair, Mr. Ford. I don't know how much you'd want in payment to literally steal something for me, but…'

'I wouldn't worry about it. We operate on a different revenue stream.'

'So I can count on you, like Betty said?'

'This means a great deal to you, doesn't it?'

'Yes, sir.' Denise looked deeply into Nate's reddened eyes, pleading.

This wasn't the usual fare for the Leverage team. Just a simple in-and-out safecracking job in an apartment building only ten stories tall. Not much of a challenge; Parker would have it done in no time. Eliot would be disappointed with no heads to crack although when he heard that tape Nate wasn't sure he wouldn't take out after that Scandinavian skank. Hardison and Sophie, well, maybe there would be something for them to do…exactly what, he didn't know. Not much of a payday on this one, either. Yes, most of his team were probably going to be sulking. However, this young lady wasn't asking much and she deserved better that what she was getting. Their kind of job. It wouldn't kill them to do a little pro bono work now and then. So Nate, without consulting his team, made a decision.

'I'm going to take your case, Denise. Let me keep this copy of the will and that tape. Give me the pictures, too; I'll make sure everything is returned to you. I'll talk to my team…we'll see what we can do. I'll be in touch.'

'Thank you, Mr. Ford.'

Denise handed over the document, the tape recorder and the pictures of the jewelry along with her phone number and email written on a cocktail napkin. She shook Nate's hand, thanked him again and left.

Nate was well into his third Irish as he thumbed through the photographs. The last one was rather poignant: a snapshot taken in front of the Eiffel Tower, an American family of French descent visiting Paris. Denise as a teenager sandwiched between her parents, everyone in a tight group hug, happy, smiling, obviously enjoying a summer vacation.


	3. Chapter 3

The display screens on the wall in the briefing room were dark. The team filed in, chattering among themselves just as Nate finished placing four file folders on the conference table. On the table behind him was a small tape recorder placed next to a half-filled glass of Scotch.

'Anybody know what's going on?'

'Why'd Nate call us in?'

'This can't be an update to the NGL stocks job, can it? Hardison, you're still in prep for that, aren't you?' asked Sophie.

Hardison nodded. 'That one's gonna take a while. Damn company's got a wicked firewall; security up the wazoo. Hey, y'think maybe Nate got tired o'waitin' and hired him a younger, faster hacker?'

'Any younger'n you, Hardison, and we'd have to stock diapers,' Eliot smirked.

 _'Hey-y-y…'_

Nate stood waiting for them in front of the black screens, holding his own folder, looking for all the world like a college professor ready for a lecture. 'What's Nate doing?' Parker asked of no one in particular.

Nate waited until everyone had availed themselves of the usual popcorn, beer and soda he'd laid out and had taken their seats. Uncharacteristically cheerful, he began his spiel. 'Good morning, good morning, kids. I'll be "running the projector today" since I'm the one who took the job without first consulting my team which as you know, is what I normally like to do. I hope that once you hear the story you'll agree to take the case with me.' He looked around the room expectantly.

Sophie seemed to be interested only in the half empty glass on the table. 'You're awfully chipper. Fell off the wagon again, did we?'

'I wouldn't say I was _on_ it long enough to _count_ being on it,' Nate replied in a droll manner, defiantly taking a sip.

'Whatever the job is, Nate, I ain't workin' with you in this condition.'

'Not to worry, Eliot…it's a very simple job, something Parker could probably do by herself. In her sleep.'

'But I thought we were a _team_ ,' Parker remonstrated.

Nate waved his hand dismissively. 'We'll see who does what. Let's begin. What you have in front of you is low-tech, old-school but it'll suffice. Sorry, Hardison, there's not enough material at the moment for your particular brand of magic.'

'That's a'ight, Nate,' Hardison said mildly, picking up his file. There was a rustle of cardboard and paper as they all opened the file folders. The contents of Eliot's slid to the floor; he muttered an expletive as he bent over and snatched it up.

'In your folders is all I have to go on - a document; a last will and testament. There're some photos, and this tape recorder you see behind me. I'll play that for you in a minute. The photos are of a jewelry collection once owned by our client's deceased mother. That family photo, that's our client with her parents.'

'The Eiffel Tower!' exclaimed Parker. 'Hardison, remember when we -'

'Rather not, Baby Girl. Not now.'

Nate called their attention back to the folders. As the team riffled through the pages, Nate lined out the details: the client, Denise; the father, possibly senile, cutting his only child out of his will and the stepmother helping herself to everything, even the urn of his ashes as well as her mother's jewelry, taking it all back to Denmark. He played the tape for them and waited for comments.

'She's _mean_ ,' said Parker, referring to Anika.

Sophie was incensed. 'Who marries somebody off _Craigslist,_ anyway?! I should _say_ senile!'

Hardison's only comment was, 'That's cold, man…that is _cold_.'

Eliot, Nate noticed, sat stonefaced, his hands folded into fists.

 _Yeah. They were hooked._

'Nice to get a referral from Betty,' said Sophie. 'What do you want us to do, Nate?'

'Simple. Parker gets the urn out of the safe. It's a ten-story apartment building and she lives on the eighth floor. I don't know what model the safe is, Parker, but I can tell you it's under five years old…'

'I can crack it,' Parker said confidently.

'…and I want to check out this will. It just doesn't make sense that a man would abandon his only child for a "mail order bride"…speaking of which, we'll be doing research on her. Now, she's planning to leave for Denmark within the next few days, so we have a time constraint.'

'On it,' said Hardison.

Sophie shook her head. 'Something about this case doesn't add up. I mean, it's just…bizarre.'

'Anyone besides me smell a rat?' said Eliot.

 _Yep_ , Nate thought to himself, smiling. _No need to worry about their dedication to a job that in all likelihood wasn't going to pay. They were hooked. Line and sinker._ He took advantage of the moment when they were all talking among themselves to finish his drink. It tasted better without Sophie's baleful glare boring through the bottom of the glass.

[~~~~~]

At Meriwether's, a popular outdoor restaurant in Portland, Parker and Hardison were having brunch on the patio. Her spring quiche and his chicken salad sandwich soon arrived along with dessert and white wine. Parker was hungry and began immediately. Hardison picked at his sandwich. He'd been unusually quiet since the briefing that morning. Parker ate silently, giving him some space. He would probably tell her what was on his mind soon enough. Except he didn't.

'Hardison?'

'Hmm?'

'Don't you like the sandwich? You've hardly touched it.'

'Something on my mind, Baby Girl.'

'I know. What?'

Hardison wiped his mouth on his napkin and took a sip of wine. 'Listen, Parker, that Eiffel Tower thing.'

'They had enough money to go to Paris. That man, 'Jauk' or whatever his name was, maybe he's loaded. Do you think that's why Nate took the case? Maybe there's a payout after all.'

'This isn't about the case.'

'Then…what?'

'The Eiffel Tower. When we - when you did your thing and we literally jumped off that…very…tall…structure…I gotta tell ya…that scared me, girl. That and all the other times we jumped off a perfectly stable building and hung like a coupl'a spiders on silk.'

'I thought you were having fun.'

'That was _me_ having fun with _you_. I guess if you strapped us onto a rocket for the moon, I'd think it was fun 'cause I'd be with you. But if it was me…'

'What are you getting at, Hardison?'

'I'm saying…I'm trying to say…I'm gonna ask you to do something for me.'

'What?'

I'm gonna ask you to stop using your rig, Parker. Please.'

Parker put her fork down and stared at him. 'You're not serious.'

He just looked at her…sadly.

'Hardison…that rig is part of my _job_. It's what I do for Leverage, Inc. For Nate, for Sophie, for Eliot…for all of us. How many jobs…no, I can't _count_ the jobs we've done with it. Why did Nate hire me, anyway? Why did Dubenich recruit me? How could I have gotten Sophie down off that… you're not serious. You can't be.'

Hardison reached across the table and took Parker's hand. 'I… am.'

She jerked her hand back. 'Why should I pay attention to you when you're talking like an idiot…'

'Call it paying attention to the law of _statistics_. Chaos theory. Murphy's Law. Whatever you wanna call it. Parker, how many times have your rigs failed?'

'None that I know of. _None_.'

'That's right. That's just it. One hundred percent efficacy. Your run of luck's been incredible considering how dangerous it is. I don't mean to sound like an OSHA rep here, but sooner or later, something's gonna happen, something's gonna give and I'm gonna lose you. Or you'll be stuck in a wheelchair, tethered to a breathing machine. I couldn't stand that, Parker.'

'Hardison, I'm very skilled…'

'All the skill in the world doesn't matter. You're human and eventually you're going to make a mistake.'

'No, I won't.'

'Yes…you…will.'

'No, I -'

 _'Parker…'_

'Look, let's just drop it for now. I want to enjoy my lunch.'

Hardison sighed. Without another word, he picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Neither he nor Parker said another word for the rest of the meal.


	4. Chapter 4

Hardison was still at his computer at 2am listening to Parker snoring lightly in the bedroom. Working from calls made the previous day to both Nate and their new client, his fingers now danced across his keyboard. The monitor before him cast a greenish glow over his dark features and flickers of light from the many windows working on the screen shone in his sharp eyes as he traced, tracked and hacked. At long last…success. Grinning widely, he leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head.

'Age of the Geek, baby…' he said to himself, nodding satisfactorily.

Seven digits could find someone on Mars, he was fond of saying - but what if you didn't have the seven digits? Ferreting that out took a little time but it wasn't impossible. With his client's permission he had taken possession of the SIM card from Denise's cell phone. She had in fact texted Anika some time ago in an attempt to contact her father before he died; in her distress she had failed to remember that fact. Hardison zeroed in on Denise's contact list and with Anika's number he was able to hack into her encrypted email account. Easy peasy.

He dug deeper, uncovering bits and pieces of unsavory information about Anika. Some of the things he read about her were creating a knot in his stomach. He chewed some antacid tablets and sipped an orange soda. The nausea eased.

Hardison intercepted several encrypted emails between Anika and her Danish contact. He now had a much clearer picture of what the team had to deal with. The next morning Hardison was ready with his 'magic' as Nate put it, thoroughly prepared to present a more detailed briefing to bring the team up to speed.

'Her name is Anika Hansen,' he began, cueing the screens behind him to bring up old photos and documents. 'Born in Denmark in 1970. Orphaned at a young age, shuffled from one orphanage to another. Hard to handle. Almost literally grew up on the streets. Turned to petty crime at a young age to support herself.'

'Almost sounds like me,' Parker remarked.

'Not quite, Babe. She ain't like you at all. This person grew up without a soul.'

'Back on track, Hardison,' Nate directed.

'Right.' Hardison turned back to the screen. 'Not surprisingly, Anika went into prostitution in her teens. She got so good at it she became a courtesan. Apparently one of her best customers was a man named Milan Ševo, a wealthy Dane who took her as his personal mistress.'

Hardison brought up another screen. 'Now, the Serb mafia, or _Juggemaffian_ in Scandinavia, is an organized crime group in Sweden and Denmark. The gang was formed during the mass immigration of Yugoslav workers to Sweden in the 1970s. Its power base is in Copenhagen. They're into everything: drugs, guns, sex trafficking…you name it. Same old mob activity but like everywhere else, they've had to push the old money-making schemes to new levels to complete in today's globalized economy. Their current leader is…you guessed it, Milan Ševo.'

'So what is she doing in America?' Sophie inquired.

'Essentially working undercover…as a jewel thief. Believe it or not, Denise's father is the third man she's married in the last ten years. By advertising herself on sites like Craigslist and nailing some poor old dude, she sets herself up with a comfortable home base from which she can operate. No overhead…three hots and a cot… She's good at what she does, too, nobody's tracked a single theft to her. Safety deposit boxes are her specialty, although she's been able to lift quite a collection in other ways. She smuggles the loose stones back to Denmark where they're sold. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds…

'She takes diamonds?'

'Yeah, Parker,' Nate interjected. 'The larger stones are re-cut. Once that's done, they're no longer traceable. By the way, Hardison, expressing admiration for our nemesis is not, uh…too kosher.'

Hardison recanted. 'Just…givin' credit where it's due, Nate…but you're, you're right…she's the bad guy. We're the good guys. My…my bad.'

Sophie asked, 'Hardison, how does she smuggle -'

'I'm comin' to that. Her last two husbands were elderly, right? Like Denise's father. They passed away within a year of their marriage to her - seems one requirement of hers is that they be in frail health. They think they're getting a caregiver for their golden years. I dunno, maybe she speeds the process. Then after they die, she makes sure they're cremated and packed into a special lead-lined urn. Now, here's the kicker: I found out she's used the same urn for all three husbands.

'How did you find all this out, Hardison?' asked Nate.

'I been monitoring her emails. They flyin' back and forth between here and Denmark like Roman candles on the fourth of July. I know time's not on our side, so I stayed up all night. Hope ya'll appreciate that.'

'Of course,' said Sophie. 'Good work, Hardison.'

Eliot rolled his eyes. Hardison, ignoring him, continued. 'Now, when I got wind of this, I threw up in my mouth a little. Anika's method of smuggling jewels out of the country is to mix 'em with the ashes in the urn. The TSA won't open urns. If the urn happens to be lead-lined, nothing shows up on an x-ray. Somehow, it gets by security. When she gets back to Denmark…this is what grossed me out…she sifts the jewels out of the ashes, cleans 'em and just… flushes the rest. Or dumps it, I dunno which. It's just packing material to her. Jewels go to the highest bidder.'

'Oh, that's so sad. No one deserves to end up like that,' Sophie said mournfully.

'Surely she can't smuggle enough gems out of the country that way to make it worth her while,' Parker suggested.

'You'd be surprised. The large urn holds ten pounds - allowing for five pounds of ash, the amount for somebody say, the size of Eliot, she can pack the rest with as much as five pounds of gemstones.' Hardison could feel Eliot's scowling eyes boring into his back. 'Last I checked, depending on the gem and how many carats, the going rate for just one pound was nearly fifty-seven million. Convert that to Danish krones, you get three hundred eighty million, give or take.'

'She'd be smart not to convert to Euros,' said Sophie. 'She'd lose quite a bit in the exchange.'

'Yeah, but Denmark has its own currency,' said Hardison. 'And keep in mind these numbers are for _one pound;_ she packs _five pounds_ in that urn. She could probably get more but she needs the ash to muffle the sound.'

'God, what a cold way to treat human remains!' said Sophie.

'And living human beings,' added Nate.

'We need to shut this bitch down.'

'We will, Eliot. Parker? You're the lead on this. Any ideas?'

Parker sat staring at the screens with a smirk on her face. You could see the wheels turning behind those impish eyes. 'Yep.'

A pause ensued. 'Care to share your ideas with the rest of the class?' asked Nate.

'I need Sophie to get her away from the apartment. What I have in mind will take a little more time than it normally does.'


	5. Chapter 5

_'National Life and Casualty. My name is Alice White, how may I direct your call?'_

'Hello. I need to talk to an insurance agent.'

 _'All right, ma'am, I'll need your name and policy number, please.'_

Anika picked up the policy and read off the number. In the background she could hear computer keys tapping.

 _'Yes ma'am, let me read that back to you. Anika L. Hansen. MHR7981. Is that correct?'_

'Yes, that is correct.'

 _'And what can I do for you?'_

'You are an insurance agent? I thought you were the switchboard operator.'

Parker was momentarily incensed. _The nerve! Alice White is a full-fledged, licensed insurance agent, not just a switchboard operator!_ She frowned, shook off her irritation, cleared her throat and resumed her role.

 _'No, I'm a licensed agent. Do you require proof?'_ Parker said, struggling to keep a professional tone in her voice.

'No.'

 _'Then how may I help you?'_

'My husband passed away six months ago, and -'

 _'Oh, I'm sorry for your loss. Have you filed a claim?'_

'Yes, I did. Why has there been no payout? It's been six months!'

Anika heard more keys tapping. _'According to my records, the claim is under review,'_ said Parker.

'What does that mean, _under review_?'

 _'It means that someone has disputed the validity of the claim, shortly after it was filed. We must investigate it before any payout can be issued. That explains the delay.'_

'But I need that money! Who disputed that claim?! Tell me!'

 _'According to our records, a Miss Denise Resharde.'_

Anika clenched her jaw in anger. 'I have legal right to that money! It's a mistake! Can it be corrected?'

 _'I'm not sure…I would recommend you speak to one of our insurance specialists, Miss Grace Peltz.'_

'Good, let me speak with her.'

 _'I'm sorry, she's out of the office until five-thirty. I could have her call on you this evening. Say around six?'_

'Your agency has hours that late?'

 _'Yes. As I said, she takes care of our special cases.'_

'Very well, then. Tell her I'll be waiting for her call. She'll need to check in with the security guard in the lobby to be allowed up. Goodbye.' Anika ended the call.

Parker looked up at Sophie and Nate with glee. 'There, you see?' said Nate. 'With a little help from our client and Hardison's magic wand, the machine purrs smoothly. Sophie: American accent, dress suit, briefcase. Hardison will have your card ready and whatever Eliot needs for your, uh, your office…he's found a small realtor on the corner in the next block we can utilize.'

'Nate, I've played an insurance agent before. I don't need coaching, thank you.'

'No, of course not. Well, set the wheels in motion, then…' Nate poured himself another Scotch. 'By the way, that name you chose… _Peltz_ does indeed sound like an insurance agent, doesn't it?'

Sophie looked at Nate in disgust. She started to say something but bit it back. The client was what mattered now, not Nate's alcoholism, which had escalated lately. They could deal with that later, and to be sure, they would. For now, she prepared to step back into the shoes of Grace Peltz. It wouldn't hurt to be that high school alumnus just one more time.

Precisely at six-thirty pm, Sophie, aka Grace Peltz, was cleared by security to go up. She rode the elevator to the eighth floor and knocked on Anika's door. She heard the tap of high heels within; when the door opened, Sophie had a business card ready to hand Anika. It was her first glimpse of their nemesis. Tall and buxom, typically Nordic, Anika Resharde was exactly as Sophie had imagined, from her five-inch high heels to her over-teased, blonde hair. _A con can spot a con a mile away_ , she thought. _She's good, too; I must be sharp with this one._

'Are you the insurance agent I expected?'

'Why yes, I am. My card. I understand you're having some difficulty, Mrs. Resharde.'

'Yes. Money that is rightfully mine from my husband's death is being withheld. Can you get it for me? The switchboard operator said you could.'

'Well…I would have to review the file…and your policy, and other documentation. Mind coming back to the office with me?'

'But…I thought you could take care of matters here.'

'I'm sorry, company rules…some files cannot leave the building. Now, once we sit down with everything, I'm sure we can reach a solution about the matter. Let's see, I'll need your husband's will, his death certificate and the Letter Testamentary…we'll make copies of everything and I'll talk to the corporate office to get the ball rolling and cut through some of the red tape for you.'

'I'll get them. Wait here. I'll be right back.' Anika paused. 'Wait, but where are your offices? Will this take long, because I'm leaving on a flight in the morning!'

'Oh, don't worry. We're just in the next block on the ground floor. It shouldn't take long. We'll find some way to expedite this. You won't miss your flight, I assure you.' Sophie exuded charm and confidence. Anika was relieved; perhaps this would only be a short delay. She was eager to get back home.

 **A FEW HOURS EARLIER**

Eliot Spencer, posing as a utility inspector and carrying a gas detecting device, entered the offices of Greentown Ventures, a small, privately owned real estate office. A jacketed agent sat at her desk, a matronly type with glasses and slightly gray hair.

'May I help you?' she asked.

Eliot flashed an ID card. 'Yes, ma'am, I'm afraid I have to ask you to evacuate the building.'

'Why on earth…?'

'A gas leak has been reported in the building, ma'am…not in your office but the floor above.' He stepped a few paces into the office, waving an LEL gas meter around. 'Yep, yep, I'm getting a reading right here. Sorry, ma'am, it's for your own safety. We've evacuated the entire building; you're all that's left. Are you the only one here? No one in the back?' Eliot took note of three desks, only one of which was occupied. A door in the rear undoubtedly led to the fileroom and bathroom.

'Connie called in sick; Kris is in the back. I'll get her.'

'Can someone call Connie and tell her not to come to work tomorrow until the all-clear?' asked Eliot.

'Of…of course, but for how long?'

'Give us twenty-four hours, ma'am. We'll issue an all-clear and you can come back to work. I know you can't bear to be away from your job for too long.' Eliot grinned enchantingly and winked at her. Kris walked through the back door and Anne quickly explained the situation. Both ladies began locking their desks and retrieving their purses.

'Wait…are we getting paid for the rest of the day?' asked Kris.

'You bet,' Eliot assured them with a smile. 'Until tomorrow, then. You'll be notified. Thank you'.

He gently herded them out the door. As soon as he was sure they had gone, he unrolled the large, flexible sign he had stashed down one pant leg and quickly covered the logo on the wall. Luckily, no other indication that it was Greentown Ventures was evident; only the street number was painted on the door. After hiding the business cards and stacking paper on top of the brochures, he left two desks as they were and placed a photo of Sophie with a fake family on the third. A _G. Peltz_ , _Agent_ nameplate was set in a conspicuous location. He gave the place a last glance. Satisfied, he left, making sure the door was unlocked. His part of the job, or so he thought, was over. He went across the street to a coffee shop to watch over Sophie - just in case. The woman was just a jewel thief, but even jewel thieves were quite capable of violence. Of that he was sure.


	6. Chapter 6 (Revision)

The twelve-story edifice adjacent to the apartment building was largely vacant, having once housed the offices of a natural gas pipeline corporation which had recently been bought out by a Texas firm. The new owners moved operations to El Paso and placed the property on the market. The remaining files were being boxed up by a skeleton crew and the janitorial service was preparing each floor for new occupancy. There was no security to outwit; a fact Parker found irksome. She liked challenge.

'Go through door…get in elevator…push button…ride,' she stated flatly to Hardison, who accompanied her. She stared dully ahead, watching the numbers blink in succession, one floor at a time. 'At least there's no muzak.'

'Hey,' he replied with a straight face, 'this suits me just fine. No risk, no fear, nice solid floor under my feet…' He stamped his foot on the carpet. 'Re-tasking a satellite…now, _that's_ a challenge, Babe.'

'Meh,' said Parker, shrugging.

They disembarked at the top floor and took the stairs to the roof. Cool night breezes wafted Parker's hair as she surveyed and calculated. Hardison waited nervously. The ambient city light faded the stars above and cast a glow on his dark face as he peered over the edge of the building. He shuddered involuntarily.

Parker was ready. She assembled her equipment and fired a crossbow carrying a zip line to the roof of the ten-story building next door. She secured the starting point and tested the hold at the other end.

'Follow me, Hardison.'

Swiftly, Parker hooked onto the line and fearlessly slid down and over. It was a short but exhilarating ride. She doubly secured the other end for Hardison's benefit and waved him over. He followed, reluctantly, muffling a scream with one hand and gripping his supporting line with the other. Landing, stumbling to keep his feet, he decided to take up the conversation where they had left off at lunch the previous day. Whether it was the right time or not didn't seem relevant. He had to make Parker listen to reason.

Instead, what began as a simple rhetorical question escalated into an argument. He tactfully suggested; she brushed him off. He pleaded and cajoled; she was adamant. He insisted; she became enraged.

'Listen to me, Parker. _Listen to me!_ Okay, _okay_. But make this the _last_ job, please? We can figure something else out. I'm just afraid of losing you, girl! There's other ways…'

He wasn't prepared for the intensity of Parker's anger. Hardison had seen her upset but never this angry. She was shaking with rage; her reddened face scowled at him frighteningly. He was taken aback.

'There's _gotta_ be some other way, Parker…' he repeated, trying to sound reasonable.

 _'Not for me!'_ she yelled in his face _._ 'Just because you're a wuss doesn't mean you can make one out of me! You're _not_ going to tell me to stop something Archie taught me; something I've been doing since I was sixteen years old! And for some jobs, there _are_ no other ways! You know that! Nate knows that! What should I do, just wave at security and ride the elevator up? _Forget it_ , Hardison!'

And there the fight ended abruptly, for Parker wheeled about and stalked off, leaving Hardison reaching his arms to her in vain. 'But, Baby Girl…'

Parker, quivering in anger and muttering to herself, left Hardison standing on the roof. She quickly picked the lock of the roof access door and stepped inside. When he didn't follow she poked her head out of the door and hissed, 'Are you coming?!' and darted back inside. Hardison heaved a mighty sigh and followed her down the steps through the elevator mechanical room to the hoist way.

Parker was already anchoring her line to a steel railing circling the mechanical room, preparing to go. The elevator was in motion several floors below. Parker waited, cell phone in hand; Sophie couldn't use coms while in such close proximity to Anika. Denise had given Sophie the apartment number; Sophie would text it to Parker when she and Anika had exited the elevator at the lobby. Sophie would then ensure the elevator car was empty and send it to the tenth floor at the top of the building.

Presently the text came through. Leaving Hardison at the mechanical room, Parker rappelled fifteen feet and landed lightly on the top of the elevator. She popped the ceiling hatch, peered through to ensure it was empty, removed the thick backpack she carried and dropped it down on a line. Her slim, lithe body followed it. She hit the eighth floor button. When the door opened onto that floor, she locked the manual override button with a special key. It had been a gift from Archie, which she always carried with her. This would ensure she had complete control of that elevator for her return; the building featured three other banks that were available for the public. From there it was a simple matter to find the apartment, pick the door lock, locate and open the safe.

Stationed at his post above, Hardison retrieved the line and coiled it neatly, awaiting Parker's return. He was shaken that he had not been able to reason with Parker. What else could be done but to hope everything continued to go smoothly? _Maybe he would have Nate talk to her. Maybe even hypnotize her._ While he hadn't appreciated Nate doing the same to him so he could play the violin, he had no qualms about running a con on the woman he loved…because losing her would be much worse. _Yeah. Yeah, he'd have Nate hypnotize her after this was all over. Then they could figure something else out._ Hardison relaxed a little, a bit more settled in his mind. Now if only this job went smoothly…

Parker swiftly found the safe in the walk-in closet of the master bedroom. Holding a flashlight between her teeth, she manipulated the dial of the heavy safe and opened it in a matter of minutes. To her surprise it wasn't a Glen Reeder but a Mesa Burglary and Fire model with a Group II combination lock designed to stop a knowledgeable thief.

'They really need to redesign these,' Parker chuckled to herself as the door instantly swung open at her command.

Gleaming in the light of her flashlight was a large bronze urn. Thanks to Hardison's intel, Parker knew what the urn contained, in addition to the mortal remains of her client's deceased father. She didn't look forward to the next step, but it had to be done. She took the urn and her backpack into the bathroom. Opening the backpack, she withdrew a leather bag with a heavy zipper, just large enough to set the urn in. She placed the urn in the dry tub and unscrewed the top. Then she placed the leather bag over the opening and pulled the bag down over the urn. Very gently, she grasped the two containers and turned the urn upside down.

Along with the gritty sound of the ash, several pounds of many precious stones hidden therein could be heard striking the leather bottom and sides of the bag. Very little dust was stirred or escaped the trap Parker had created and what little leaked out landed in the tub. Parker carefully swept this up and returned it to the bag. She tapped the urn gently to make sure it was completely empty and did a visual check of the contents of the leather bag. No complete pieces of jewelry could be seen, only loose stones and bits of metal. The pieces of jewelry Denise wanted so much had apparently already been cut and melted. Anika probably popped the stones the minute she got her hands on the pieces. Shaking her head regretfully, Parker zipped up the leather bag and inserted it carefully into her backpack. She withdrew a heavy plastic bag of replacement material and poured it into the urn after which she screwed the top down tightly. Anika was leaving in only a few hours; she wouldn't check the urn before she packed it. She might shake it, but the replacement material would assure her of the urn's contents. That material was her own special contribution to this particular job and she had difficulty stifling a giggle as she removed every trace of dust from the tub. She returned the urn to the safe in the exact same spot and spun the dial back to its original position. Mission accomplished. She checked her watch. Sophie would be back soon with Anika. She had to get a move on.

During the time Parker was gone, pacing nervously along the edge of the hoist way by the elevator's mechanical room, Hardison checked his watch constantly. Unmindful of where he was stepping, he tripped, dangerously losing his balance. His foot came down hard on the coil of carbon fiber rope where it dangled over the edge of the hoist way. The other end was clamped securely to the steel railing surrounding the mechanical room. Hardison nearly went over, but his hand shot out and caught hold of the rope anchored to the steel railing. Sweat dripping from his brow, he looked down into the infinity of darkness and breathed a shaky sigh of relief. He hoisted himself back up, mopping his wet brow with his shirtsleeve. After his heart regained its normal rhythm he checked his watch again. Surely she'd signal him to lower the rope…any minute now…


	7. Chapter 7

Parker exited the apartment and re-set the door lock. No trace of her forced entry would be detected. She unlocked her elevator and pressed the tenth floor. Springing vertically to the ceiling with the heavy leather bag in her backpack wasn't easy but she did it, popping the ceiling hatch and pulling herself up.

Standing on the elevator's roof, she placed a finger on her earbud to increase reception. 'Hardison…send the cable.'

'Comin' to you now, Babe.' Hardison sent the coils snaking down. Parker hooked the lines into her belt, checked the integrity of burden on her back, and prepared to retract.

The rig she was using on this job lacked the steel cable core the original Mark II featured. It had been damaged on an earlier job. Parker substituted the plain carbon fiber rope until she could get the original repaired. She had every confidence in this rig and in fact it was simpler to use. _Maybe that's why Hardison's so nervous,_ she thought _, he'd rappelled with only the steel cable_. She couldn't believe they'd actually fought about that; their first real fight.

Parker didn't know what to do or how to feel. If she catered to Hardison's fears, Leverage Inc. would simply be unable to do a great many jobs. Did Hardison think the team would tolerate the loss of that kind of revenue? This was the only way she knew how to operate. She was a cat burglar. What were the alternatives? Hardison would just have to grow a set and let her alone. She knew what she was doing. Nate had often said that her skill sets, even if they were different, were on the same level as Eliot's. Nobody was telling _him_ what to do. She and he did the things the other three couldn't. _What would they do if her wings were clipped?_ Parker sighed as her line retracted, pulling her up. As her feet cleared the elevator, someone down below called the elevator which began its descent.

Suddenly Parker felt a subtle vibration, as if the rope was shifting or giving way. Then it did just that, separating at the point where Hardison's shoe had severed some fibers, weakening it. With the increased weight of the backpack Parker was carrying, the fibers snapped.

Parker felt weightless for a split second before she began her fall into the dark pit. She kept her wits about her and reached out, snagging one of the thrumming elevator cables. She winced as her gloved hand closed around it; the friction burned as her momentum carried her down. She managed to get both hands on the cable but could not slow her descent. The thick, sharply threaded cable was shredding her gloves; the metal was biting into her hands. She brought her feet up and clamped them on each side of the cable which helped slow her momentum somewhat. She heard and felt a rush of wind; the elevator was coming back up toward her. If she could manage to release her hold on the cable in time, she might land on the roof of the elevator; if she was lucky she wouldn't break anything.

The car was nearly thirty feet below her when she let go. It rose another five or six feet before her body slammed into it. Parker's breath left her lungs. The long coils of rope, snapped at the starting point, snaked down and landed on top of her. Stunned, she lay helpless while the dark slowly enveloped her.

At the top level, Hardison had watched Parker retract. Then the rope separated and she was gone. She didn't make a sound, she was just…gone. Stunned, he glanced down at the slack, shortened cord, pulled it up, saw the broken fibers and knew his worst nightmare had come true. Parker had fallen. Shock, disbelief and anger shook him and he called down shakily, hoping for a reply, hoping for a miracle.

 _'_ _Parker?!'_

Someone beckoned the elevator back up to the ninth floor. Hardison caught a glimpse of Parker sprawled on the roof of the car before it started back down. He saw blood. He thought he saw her move. He prayed he saw her move. The car stopped, and descended again.

Shakily, he pressed his earbud tighter and called for Nate, who was waiting back at the bar for Sophie to finish distracting Anika. There was no response. _Don't let him be drunk…don't let him be drunk_ … 'Nate! _Nate! ….. Eliot…ELIOT!'_

Both Eliot and Sophie had been monitoring the exchange. Sophie, remaining in character, could not respond as she copied documents for Anika, but the blonde woman was quick to see concern flit across Sophie's face. 'Is anything wrong?' she asked.

'Oh…no, no…,' Sophie replied with a chuckle. 'The ah…the copier seems to have a problem. Can you please wait here and let me get more toner? It won't take but a moment. While I'm in the back, can I get you anything?'

'I'm fine, thank you. Just please hurry, I must get this resolved and catch my flight, which is…' she consulted her watch, 'only a few hours away.'

Sophie smiled at her. 'I assure you, it won't take long.'

Sophie stepped through the back office door and kept it cracked so she could watch Anika. In the time it took her to get a toner pack and return, she unsuccessfully attempted to raise Nate on the coms. When that didn't work, she called to Eliot, just across the street. He was already on his way, advising Sophie to keep their nemesis occupied any way she could to give him the time he needed to resolve whatever problem Hardison was having. From what they both heard, it didn't sound good.

One thought on all their minds was… _where in hell was Nate?_

 **FLASHBACK**

In the shop across the street, Eliot munched on a slice of pie and sipped coffee while he monitored coms. Through his earbud, he'd heard Sophie expertly distract and draw Anika out of her apartment. Parker was doing whatever it was she was doing; a lot of rattling had echoed in his ear, annoying him. Everything seemed to be going smoothly.

Then all hell broke loose.

Hardison's panicked, shrill voice nearly burst his eardrum. Wincing, Eliot listened for a few seconds. What he heard spurred him to action. He dug in his jeans, threw some bills on the table, jumped up and ran out of the coffee shop, hair flying.

'Hardison! Hardison! _Talk to me!'_

Hardison was sobbing. 'It's P-Parker, Eliot – _she fell!'_

 _'What?!'_

'She fell down the elevator shaft!'

Eliot's heart clenched. 'You're _not tellin'_ me that, man – dammit, Hardison, you're _not tellin' me that!_ _Fuck!'_

'No…no…she fell on the _elevator_ , man – she's on the roof of the elevator!'

'How far did she fall? Is she alive?!'

'I-I can't tell.'

'Can't you rappel down to check?'

'No, man, the rope went with her! I got no way to reach her! I need help!'

'Ok, hang on, I'm on my way. You hear me, man? I'm _comin'!'_

'Hurry, Eliot! _Hurry!_ '

Eliot, already running hard, gulped air, gritted his teeth and increased his speed.


	8. Chapter 8

Eliot rounded the corner and darted through the doors to the nearly empty building from which Parker had strung the zip line. He punched the basement button. Maintenance storage might have some equipment; if he was lucky he'd find fire hose or maybe some chain with which he might reach Parker because Hardison had said there was no ladder in the hoist way.

The lock to the steel maintenance door swiftly yielded to his efforts. Flicking the light switch was useless; he shone the small flashlight he always carried around the room. Aside from brooms, mops and buckets, there was nothing. He crossed the room to a row of metal lockers and jerked them open, one by one. All were empty but for some musty uniforms. The fifth one was padlocked. Eliot snatched the fire extinguisher from the wall and broke the lock. Equipment tumbled out onto the floor; hammers, pliers, wrenches, nails…and a brand new coil of 3/8" nylon - still in its plastic package.

He ripped the plastic from it as he ran back to the elevator and hit the top floor button. Quickly uncoiling the rope, he reconfigured it in a fireman's coil and looped it diagonally over his shoulder. The elevator rose at a snail's pace. Eliot paced in a circle, ramming one fist into the other, over and over again. Parker had to be all right. She _had_ to be all right. Eliot didn't know where Nate was in all this or what the hell he was doing but there was a good chance he was gonna punch him out when he saw him again. Sophie was on the job, holding up her end as always. Hardison, however useless, was on the job…Parker was hurt, maybe dead…yeah, he was gonna punch Nate Ford in his throat; in the solar plexus; he'd go down and all that damned liquor would come up and maybe he'd drown in it. Son of a bitch.

Eliot became aware that, in his fury, he was quivering. He stopped pacing and closed his eyes. This wouldn't do…Parker needed him. He entered a Zen state to free himself of the murderous rage that had nearly claimed his control. Deep breaths. Focused. Steady.

He left the elevator, gained the roof and unbuckled his belt. Pulling it swiftly from his belt loops, he threw it over the zip line and began his dizzying descent. Without proper equipment he landed too fast and too hard; he dropped to a roll and came to his feet, a little shaken and bruised but ready for action.

'Hardison! I'm here!' he yelled into the coms. He ran toward the door to the mechanical room.

Inside, Hardison leaned over as far as he could, peering down into the elevator shaft. What he saw horrified him. An orange-yellow glow shone at the base of the hoist way; ten stories down it looked like a small flicker…but it grew, swiftly, becoming a hot, raging menace. Whiffs of smoke came up the hoist way and stung Hardison's eyes. He immediately reported through the com: 'Eliot…we got another problem.'

'Whatever it is can wait, Hardison, we gotta get Parker!'

' _No_ , it's…'

 _'What?!'_

'Fire…I see fire. There's a fire…the damned…oh, my God, the damned _building's on fire!'_

Eliot paused, cupping his hand over his ear to hear better. 'Where?!'

'Down the elevator shaft…looks like first or second floor…flames are coming up…it's gettin' smoky.'

Eliot made his way through the mechanical room to where Hardison was standing, on the edge of the hoist way. He grabbed his friend and pulled him back from the edge. Kneeling, he peered down into the hoist way to take stock of the situation for himself. Wafts of smoke, slowly thickening, floated up and dissipated.

Fire glowed down below, growing by the second, sending smoke and hot particles up the hoist way. The fire cast just enough light to illuminate the elevator on which Parker lay. Eliot took stock of the situation. To his right was the same steel railing circling the mechanical room that Parker had tied onto. Part of her rope remained; the carabiner was intact at the source. What had caused her to fall? He pulled up what was left and looked at the separated end. His index finger riffled the fibers. He looked over his shoulder at Hardison, who seemed ready to collapse. Eliot suspected what had happened but now was not the time, nor the place.

'OK, Hardison, listen to me. The building fire alarm is gonna go off – when it does, the elevator will ignore all call buttons and go to the ground floor - on or near the floor that's on fire. We gotta move. You up for it?'

Hardison nodded. 'I gotta get Parker, Eliot.'

Eliot was uncoiling the new rope, knotting it securely to the stair railing with a Yosemite bowline. 'You will, man…we both will…' he assured his friend.

'Eliot, what's happening?' Sophie whispered through the coms.

 _'_ _Not now, Sophie! We got a situation here!'_

Eliot turned his attention to Hardison. 'Listen, man…that elevator's about sixty feet down. This rope's weight limit is two-forty. You and me together's over limit. We gotta go one at a time. Can you hand-over-hand?'

'I think so, yeah.'

'You're gonna have to do it quick.'

Hardison looked determined enough to try anything. Eliot gave him a quick pointer. 'Clamp your feet on the rope and support some of your weight that way. We got a hundred feet of rope – we gotta get to that elevator before it descends. I'll go first. You follow as fast as you can. If it goes past the point you can jump you'll just have to climb back up. We'll get you down another way.'

Hardison nodded and watched Eliot take the rope in his hands and swing over the edge.

Eliot expertly descended the rope and dropped lightly to the top of the elevator car. He swiftly lashed the rope to the elevator cable to help Hardison. Smoke and flaming particles were rising on all sides, getting thicker and hotter. _Damn hoist way's a natural chimney_ , he thought. _Gotta get Parker out of here quick_. He took his flashlight from his pocket. Parker lay on her back under the broken coils of her own rope. He unclipped her belt and kicked the ruined rig over the edge of the car and knelt by Parker.

Eliot spoke through his earbud. 'Come on down, Hardison. Hurry.'

Bravely putting his fear in his back pocket, Hardison began his descent. There was no hesitation in his movements; he descended smoothly and swiftly and soon took his place by Eliot's side.

Eliot did a quick examination of Parker's injuries, checking her pupils and respiration. He performed careful palpations around her head and neck. Blood was matted around her mouth and nose and her shredded gloves were bloody. There was a deep gash on one leg and the other one appeared to be broken near the ankle. Eliot's trained hands told him she had a separated left shoulder. A concussion or skull fracture was a distinct possibility although her neck and spine felt intact. Her heavy backpack seemed to have cushioned her fall somewhat.

For now, as long as her spine was stable, she could be moved, albeit carefully, even if it exacerbated her other injuries. Hardison knelt by Parker while Eliot opened the ceiling hatch of the elevator. Eliot motioned him to drop down inside.

'Eliot!' he called up. 'Look through Parker's pockets – there should be an elevator key!'

'What good's that gonna do?'

'I can lock the elevator in place. Parker taught me that,' he said, his voice breaking.

Eliot rifled Parker's pockets and found the key. He tossed it to Hardison who inserted it, putting the elevator on hold. 'I don't know if that'll do any good in a fire situation, Hardison, but good thinking. Maybe it'll buy us some time.'

Eliot lifted Parker's inert form and slung her over his shoulder. Leaning down, he inserted her feet into the opening and lowered her gently to Hardison who stood ready, his big hands held high.

'Grab her head, Hardison. Hold her steady.'

'Got her!'

Eliot tossed Parker's backpack down then lowered himself through the opening. 'Fuck, it's hot in here. It's like a goddamned oven.' He coughed. 'Shaft's filling up with smoke, too. We gotta—'

Police and fire sirens could be heard in the distance, growing louder. The two men looked at each other. 'This place is gonna be crawling with cops and firefighters in about five minutes. They'll override the lock. What do we do?' Hardison began coughing.

'Get us to the next floor, Hardison,' said Eliot, 'we gotta take the stairs.'


	9. Chapter 9

Back at the realtor's office that Eliot had converted into an insurance agency, Anika swiveled her chair to look out the windows. Firetrucks and police cards were flashing by, sirens blaring. Anika looked at Sophie in alarm.

'They're…they're going in the direction of my apartment! Do you think -'

Anika crossed the room and opened the door. She stepped out for a closer look. Sure enough, one block up, the emergency vehicles were being directed to key positions in front of her building and police officers were directing traffic away from it. Yellow-clad firemen were swarming out of the trucks and two EMT vehicles were lined up across the street. Smoke billowed, borne on the wind, and the unmistakable odor of burning carpet and draperies wafted down the street. Anika's worst fears were confirmed.

'Oh, my God! My…my building's on fire! _Are you finished_?! Give me those documents! You'll hear from me later! I must go!' Anika screamed.

There was no holding her back; actually there was no need, or for further subterfuge at this point. Sophie, protesting feebly just to make it look good, swiftly handed her a large, sealed envelope containing about thirty blank sheets of Hammermill Bond, fresh out of the package. Anika grabbed the envelope and ran out the door. Her chances of getting into her building were slim to none, Sophie knew, but even if she managed it, the job was essentially complete; mission accomplished. Sophie's only concern now was for Parker. As for Anika…let the chips fall where they may. She had no documents and she had no jewels. Case closed. That fire had been a blessing in disguise...but also a curse, for the team was still trapped in the building. Sophie called Eliot over the coms. 'Hardison...Eliot...are you all right? Is Parker all right? I can't get Nate to answer!'

Eliot replied. 'We're ok, Sophie, Parker's hurt but I think she'll be ok. We're on our way out of the building now. Don't worry about Nate….. _I'll take care of Nate next time I see him_.'

Sophie didn't like the sound of that.

In the smoky building, Eliot's choice of words and the tone of his voice made Hardison's eyes go wide. Keeping a tight grip on Parker's backpack, he followed Eliot who was carefully carrying Parker down the stairs.

Sophie took down the fake sign, packed it and the fake photo Eliot had set out on the desk into her bag. She checked to make sure she hadn't missed anything and locked the door of the realtor's office.

'Thank you for the loan, Greentown Ventures,' she said softly. 'Pleasure doing business with you.'

Sophie caught a cab back to the bar pub. Ever the optimist, she was certain Parker would be all right; she was in good hands. If anyone could get the team out of danger, it was Eliot. Right now, she had to find out what was going on with Nate. From what she'd heard over coms she suspected he'd soon be at the mercy of Eliot's considerable wrath. Of that outcome, she was a little less than optimistic.

Hardison pulled Parker's elevator key and pressed the button which brought the car down one floor. The team exited the elevator and made their way to the stairs.

'Carryin' Parker downstairs ain't gonna be easy.'

'Would you rather carry her _up_ the stairs, Hardison?' Eliot asked irritably. 'I'm the one that's carryin' her, anyway – I'll swap with ya if I need to. Eventually we're gonna run into firemen. All we gotta do is blend in – remember, we're victims. Just keep your mouth shut; let me do the talkin'. Think you can do that, huh?'

The two men entered the stairwell and began their descent. Something was wrong. Smoke was rising up the stairwell; the further down they went, the thicker it got. The heat was intense. The men paused on a landing to take stock of the situation, coughing and pouring sweat. Hardison took off his leather jacket and draped it over Parker's face to protect her.

'Hardison, take off your T-shirt. Fold it thick - tie it around your mouth and nose.' Eliot gently placed Parker on the concrete landing, whipped his own shirt over his head and did the same thing. He lifted Parker, wrapped in Hardison's jacket, and continued down the steps. They were on the sixth floor.

'Eliot, what's happening? There's not supposed to be smoke in the stairwell!'

'The PPV fans aren't working. Fire naturally vents from the fire floor into the hoist way or stairwell where there's lower pressure. The fans create static pressure greater than that created by the fire to keep smoke out of the stairwells for escape routes. If they're not working…'

'We're fried.'

'No, we're not. Get a move on.'

Carried by the updraft, small bits of flaming debris wafted around them. Hardison slapped out fire wherever it landed: his own arms, Eliot's shoulders and Parker's exposed legs. The lower they went, the more they were surrounded by flaming airborne particles. Parker was coughing and moaning in pain.

'Hush, sweetheart, just stay still. I've got you. We'll be out of here soon.'

Her weak voice was muffled beneath the jacket. 'Hardison…?'

'He's right behind me. Don't worry,' Eliot whispered to her. He clutched her tighter as they continued to descend, stepping carefully but swiftly. Down and down they went, until at last, at the third floor level they met a crew of masked firemen in the stairwell.

 _'_ _Hey, get us outta here, man!'_ Eliot cried.

Two burly firefighters volunteered to take the three back down while the rest continued up. One of them shared his air tank mask with Eliot and Hardison and the other placed his over Parker's face. 'Let me take her,' he offered.

Eliot fell into character. 'Naw, I'm fine, man, she's m'wife – she jus' fainted. Two months along; our first kid. Naw, really, I can take her down. Thanks for the air, man! Hey, give Lenny back there some. He needs help. Come on, Lenny, you can make it! We're ok now!' Despite the situation, Eliot grinned, cradling Parker, feeling Hardison's eyes boring into his back as the fireman pulled Hardison's arm over his shoulder and helped 'Lenny' down each step.

The two firemen directed them on down the last steps and out a side door where the wind was right, taking the smoke in the opposite direction. Eliot and Hardison gulped lungfuls of clean, cool night air. The streetlights were out and a large, uncontrolled group of gawkers had gathered. Hardison and Eliot, still clutching Parker, used these distractions to flee their fireman escorts, meld into the thick crowd and vanish. After a few blocks, Eliot transferred Parker to Hardison's strong arms and hailed a cab back to Leverage Inc.


	10. Chapter 10

Anika's high heels ticked swiftly against the sidewalk as she ran as fast as she could toward her apartment building. Smoke poured out of the lobby and the windows of the first two floors. Firemen had cordoned off the area and police were at work maintaining crowd control.

Anika ducked under the yellow barricade tape and attempted to get to the front door. An enormous firefighter stepped in front of her.

'Sorry, Ma'am, you can't go in. Back behind the line.'

'But I live here! Please, I simply must get to my flat! I have a flight leaving in the morning! I live on the eighth floor, way above the fire…'

'Makes no difference, Ma'am. Get back behind the line.' The fireman's face was set in stone.

Thwarted, Anika turned and ran back in the direction she had come. When she was out of sight, she ducked into the shadows, chest heaving with exertion. She'd get to her flat, _oh, yes she would_. That shipment was of the utmost importance. Milan expected her to arrive on time and nobody was going to stop her. She considered her options. The elevators would be out of commission… if she had to she'd use the stairs. _But wait! The freight elevator in the back! It might still be operating._

Anika made her way to the rear of the building and quickly picked the lock of the service entrance door. The emergency lights were on. Although there was very little smoke the freight elevator was shut down. If she took the stairs she'd likely run into firemen. She stood thinking a minute. A memory stirred. The building had an old, discontinued laundry chute and manual dumbwaiter; she remembered Jacques telling her about how they once operated all the way from the basement laundry to the top floors. He had showed her the small sliding window opening into the kitchen of their apartment. If the platform would support her weight, and if she could use the pulley…

She took the steps down to the basement. The window to the dumbwaiter here was padlocked but easily opened by a master thief. The chute was smoke-free. She cleared away dusty spider webs and examined the platform, pulleys and cable. Everything seemed intact and the platform, once used for large loads of folded laundry, was big enough to accommodate her slight frame. She pulled herself through the opening, gingerly folded herself onto the flat surface and began operating the pulley. The cable carried her up, higher and higher. She had to pause to rest at each level; the higher she went the more frightened she became. What if it all collapsed? When she brought the urn and her suitcase down with her… would it support that much extra weight?

She shook herself free of such thoughts and kept pulling, unmindful of the dust, rust and debris showering down on her, ignoring how much her shoulders ached. Once she climbed through that sliding window she'd pack only what she needed and go back down the same way. She could change into fresh clothes at the airport. She'd make that flight. There was too much at stake. Her share of this shipment would be nearly a quarter million. She had the documents she needed to stake a claim on Jacques' estate. That could be managed from Denmark if necessary. Despite her fatigue, she smiled. That was bonus money she wouldn't have to share with anybody.

(~~~)

Safely back at Leverage Inc., Hardison carried Parker to the special treatment room adjacent to Nate's condo and laid her gently on the exam table. He removed her clothing and covered her with a sheet while Eliot washed his hands.

When Hardison first bought the building - over Nate's strident but futile objections - he had a look at the blueprints to the condo as well as the lease. Back when there were such things, doormen and other building employees had utilized a break room with kitchen and bath built in. Sealed off for years, it shared a wall with Nate's apartment. By removing the wall it could be put to use as an extra room with special facilities for the team without invading Nate's personal space. To this end, Hardison and Eliot renovated it, turning it into a treatment room where Eliot could apply his medical skills for any serious injuries the team might suffer. There was a row of cabinets against one wall, with a small sink positioned at the end of the run as well as a toilet, tub and shower. The cabinets were well stocked with first aid supplies, needles, syringes, necessary drugs and even basic surgical tools and an oxygen tank. There was a small autoclave, a desk and dorm sized refrigerator, stove, washer and dryer. Eliot installed four cots in the room so he could treat the rest of the team together if by some misfortune they all got injured at once.

It had been a good investment of time, money and materials.

Now, Eliot placed an oxygen mask over Parker's face and laid out the instruments and items he needed to treat her injuries on a stainless steel tray. 'Wake her up, Hardison, she shouldn't sleep right now.'

'I thought she was knocked out.'

'No - smoke inhalation and exhaustion. She's asleep. Get her to wake up. One of us will have to sit up with her in case she has a concussion. When she fell, the impact jolted her brain. That's a concussion. I've had a few of 'em myself.'

Hardison gently patted Parker's cheeks. 'Wake up, Baby Girl. Hey! Wake up, Parker.'

Parker stirred. 'Tired,' she mumbled, but kept her eyes open, staring up at Hardison.

'What do we do, Eliot?'

'We keep her awake, ask her questions, have her do simple math, that kind of thing. Indicates her neurological status.'

As he talked, Eliot checked Parker's respiration, flicked a small flashlight in her eyes to check her pupil reactivity, took her blood pressure and checked her heart rate. He carefully palpated Parker's legs and arms, especially her joints, ribs and along her spine. There was indeed a separated left shoulder but that would heal on its own. The left fibula was a closed fracture; the tibia was intact. His gloved fingers moved through her hair to check for skull fractures. There were none.

'That backpack saved her a world of hurt,' said Eliot. 'You talk to her; I'm gonna treat her legs. Her hands may or may not need stitches; I'll do them last.'

Since Parker's respiration and blood pressure were normal, Eliot could administer a small amount of Demerol before he set the break and applied a splint. Hardison kept her awake and distracted while Eliot worked. Parker yelped when he reduced the fracture.

'Can't you give her some more pain killer?' Hardison whispered.

'Not with her head injury. She probably won't remember it, Hardison.'

Using a topical anesthetic, Eliot put several stitches in her gashed right leg and bandaged it. Examining her hands, he cleaned them, stitched a few of the deeper cuts and wrapped them lightly in gauze. He cleaned and disinfected several scrapes and scratches, after which he stripped his gloves and threw them in the trash.

'Help her sit up, Hardison.'

He complied, gently raising Parker to a sitting position and letting her rest against his chest. Eliot held a finger in front of Parker's eyes.

'Follow it, Parker,' he instructed, moving his finger side to side, up and down. 'OK. Now, look at these.' Eliot held up first a thermometer, then a suction bulb and lastly, a reflex hammer. He allowed her to look at them for a few moments then placed them in a drawer, out of sight. He chatted with her and with Hardison for a few minutes, then sprang a question on her:

'Hey, Parker, what's the formula to figure the speed of traversing a 165-foot zip line?'

Parker hesitated only a moment. 'Velocity equals gravity… 32 feet per second squared, multiplied by time in seconds… multiplied by the cosine angle of the zipline… minus friction.'

'And that is?'

'Eighteen miles an hour.'

Hardison looked up at Eliot quizzically. ' _Simple_ math, huh?'

'Hey, for Parker, that _is,_ ' Eliot replied. 'Parker?'

' _Now_ what,' she said, grumpily.

'What three objects did I show you a moment ago?'

'There was a little red hammer… and a thermometer…'

'Yeah, what else?'

'A clown nose.'

Eliot smiled at that. 'You seem to be neurologically intact, Parker.'

'I remember them but they were kind of blurry. You're blurry. I feel a little dizzy. Can I lie back down?'

'As long as you don't sleep - not for a while yet. We're gonna keep talking to you for a little while longer. Are you nauseated?'

'No… but I'm thirsty.'

'I'll get you some ice chips.'

'What do you think, Eliot?' asked Hardison anxiously.

'She may have a very slight concussion but I don't think it's serious. Don't worry, Hardison.' Eliot laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.

'Let's get her off this hard table and on a cot with some pillows. Prop her leg up.'

Once Parker was settled and comfortable, half sitting against several pillows, Hardison said, 'I'll stay with her, Eliot. Get you some sleep, man.'

'OK. I'll spell you in a couple of hours. Call me if there are any changes.'

(~~~)

Once the danger of concussion was past, Eliot allowed Parker several hours of sleep. He came in softly the next morning to check on her, placing a gentle hand on her forehead. There was no fever.

'Hey, how you doin' darlin'?'

'Okay…it's hurting some.'

'Where, the ankle?'

'Yeah.'

'Bad enough for a shot?'

'Yeah.'

Eliot donned latex gloves, took Demerol from his bag and loaded a syringe.

'Roll over,' he instructed.

Parker complied. Eliot lifted the T-shirt she was wearing. It was big on her; he suspected it was Hardison's. He swabbed her hip with alcohol and smoothly inserted the needle.

'When that kicks in, it's ok to go to sleep. I want you sleep for as long as you want. Best way to heal up. Okay?'

She nodded. He pulled the T-shirt back down and pulled her blanket over her shoulders.

'Thanks, Eliot.'

'Won't even charge a house call, sweetheart,' he said, smiling.


	11. Chapter 11

Eliot closed the door to the treatment room and went into the kitchen. Parker would need protein to heal faster; to this end he dug a roast out of the freezer. A hearty beef bourguignon would be ready in time for dinner.

While treating Parker's injuries, Eliot had debated whether to tell her about the rope. The separated end had shown every indication of having been crimped against the concrete ledge by pressure, a distinctive clue. As a rappelling expert in his own right, he knew that a rope containing fibers, no matter how strong, could be weakened by a careless step or by something hard or sharp dropped directly on it. Parker would no more use a weakened rope than he would, which meant that it was damaged right before Parker fell… which meant only one thing… Hardison. He wasn't a climber and he was physically clumsy; his skills were in that brain and those fingertips. He wouldn't realize the danger he put Parker in when he'd stepped on that rope…

Eliot decided against telling her. The rope had been left behind; Parker couldn't have seen the damage; she wouldn't know. Later, if she guessed the truth somehow, it was up to her to take it up with Hardison. Telling Hardison the truth, however, was another matter and he intended to do so when the time was right.

He was chopping onions, carrots and red peppers when the hacker came into the kitchen. He unscrewed the top off an orange soda and propped himself against the kitchen counter, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

'Hey man, toss me another onion, willya? They're in that bowl beside you.'

Hardison lobbed it to Eliot, who caught it deftly, twirled his knife, cut and turned the uniform slices of onion and in seconds reduced it to small cubes as Hardison stood by, watching.

'Hey, instead of hovering all useless and everything, how about bring me that bottle of Burgundy wine from the pantry.'

Hardison complied. 'Eliot?'

'Yeah.'

'How's Parker?'

'Sleepin' – I gave her a shot.'

'She's gonna be all right? She's… she's better, isn't she?'

Eliot glanced up from his cutting board. 'Give her time, man, she'll be fine. Parker's tough.'

'Gotta hand it to you, man… you're one helluva medic…'

Eliot continued chopping.

'They taught you that in the Army, right?'

'Yeah. Yeah, Hardison, I was cross-trained in the Army.'

'Just wanted to thank you.'

'No need to thank me, Hardison,' Eliot replied as he ceased chopping, resting the knife on the board against a mound of colorful vegetable carnage. The time was right enough.

'Hardison… I gotta tell ya… you know why Parker fell, don't'cha?'

'Not really, no. I mean, I knew - I just knew she would, sooner or later - I guess you know, me and her been dukin' it out about that lately…'

'Yeah, I, uh… I suspected.' He shrugged. 'I heard ya'll arguing… and then the other day I happened to hear you practicing what you were gonna say to her about it. I could tell you were angry. I didn't… Look, man, I didn't want to tell you this, but…' Eliot looked up at his friend. 'She fell because of you. Because of something you did.'

Hardison was taken aback and instantly on the defensive. 'No way, man, _no way_! I was up there _helping_ her!'

'Keep your voice down! You'll wake Parker! You're the one who made her fall, man - I saw the carbon fiber rope - the end was crimped! There's only one way that can happen. You drop something or step on it and the weight damages the fibers! It weakens the rope, man! You stepped on the rope! Didn't you know better than to do that?!'

Hardison and Eliot both spoke low but harshly, talking over each other. 'No…no…' - 'She's lyin' up there because o'you!' - 'God, Eliot, don't tell me that!' Hardison sobbed. - 'It's the truth, man! _Face it!_ '

Hardison dropped his head into his hands. 'Oh, man… Oh my God… I remember now… but it was an accident; I swear I didn't mean to… You gonna tell Parker?'

'No. Just you… I'm just tellin' you… so you'll know better next time.'

Hardison wiped his eyes and looked sadly at Eliot. 'There might not be a next time.'

'Whoa, Hardison… you didn't just say that. You're gonna do it? Take away her rigs?

'If that's what it takes to keep Parker safe…'

Eliot, exasperated, picked up the knife and stabbed the cutting board with it. 'Dammit, Hardison, I thought you knew Parker! I thought you cared about her!'

'I do, man, I do!'

 _'Bullshit._ She knows what she's doing. You have to trust her. _Hardison!'_

But the hacker, infuriated, walked out.

Nate Ford sat at the bar, contemplating the empty shot glass in front of him and, there was no other word for it, brooding. He'd had just one drink. Now, he absently traced a pattern around the rim of the glass with one finger. The bartender had offered to fill it twice now but Nate had waved him off each time. He just sat, staring at the glass.

The door to the bar swung open. Nate looked up; it was Hardison. The young man had a lot on his mind, judging from the look on his face.

Hardison took the barstool next to Nate.

Nate glanced over at him. 'So,' he said.

'So,' Hardison replied.

'The job's nearly complete. I hope the customer's gonna be satisfied when we meet her, because I get the feeling that my team certainly isn't…for a number of reasons.'

'Nate,' Hardison began.

'I guess you're wondering why you couldn't reach me on the coms earlier? I imagine the others are.'

Nate cocked his head slightly to the side, treating Hardison to a sidelong glance. The hacker seemed to be too preoccupied to have even registered what the mastermind had said.

'This isn't about you, Nate. I… I got to talk to somebody, man. Me and Parker, we been fightin' lately… I wanted her to stop using her rigs, and she… she…'

Hardison sounded like he was about to cry. Nate waited patiently.

'She fell, not because of anything she did…but what I did. I broke her rope, Nate. It was an accident but I broke her rope when I stepped on it. Hell, I didn't know that could happen, but Eliot said that's what I did. I stepped on it, it snapped, and she…'

'Well, Hardison, accidents can happen. Do you still want her to stop using her rigs?'

'Well…yeah.'

'Hardison… just what is it you like about Parker? Or love, as it were? I assume you're in love with her.'

'Well, yeah, Nate. Have been for some time now.'

'Just what is it you love about her? That she's a world-class thief, a criminal like you? That beguiling quirkiness? That she's so good as what she does? What defines Parker to you?'

Hardison stared at him. 'All…all those things, Nate.'

'And Parker loves you. This I know. I've never known her to attach herself to anyone other than Archie Leach. What do you think she loves about _you?_ That you're a geek genius? A fellow criminal? She loves you as a whole.

'What I'm saying, Hardison, is that Parker's… _modus operandi_ , if you will… the way she operates… and that includes her rigs, by the way… well, they're a part of her as much as all the other things you say you love about her. Take away any one part, she's incomplete. You can't ask a bird to clip its wings and then expect it not to long for the freedom it once knew. Some people can't be happy being just average and Parker is one of those people. Now… if you're not careful… you'll push her away. When people are that good at what they do, they don't tolerate someone they love trying to take it away from them.

'Besides that, we _need_ Parker. She's among the elite, Hardison. Don't cramp her style; lighten up. The pressure you're putting on her might just distract her enough to make a serious mistake… think about it. And while you're thinking of that, think of this, too: if she asked you to stop hacking, how would that make _you_ feel?'

Hardison knew what point Nate was trying to make to him, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it. 'That's not the same thing. What I do isn't dangerous!'

'Not in the same way, perhaps, but we ALL have dangerous jobs. How do you think Parker would feel if you ended up in prison?'

That brought the young man up short. He hadn't thought of that. 'Oh.'

'Yet, Parker hasn't asked you to change, has she?' Seeing he was finally getting through to the hacker, Nate moved in for the finish. 'She loves you just the way you are. Don't you think you owe her the same?'

Sliding off of his stool, Nate moved over to the window and stood with his back to the room, staring out into the night. Hardison's problem had distracted him for a bit, but now that sinking feeling was back — the feeling that the team might not understand where he had been and what he had been doing.

'I bear some responsibility in all of this, too. Parker might not have been hurt if I had been on top of my game — if I had insisted she have a backup rig identical to the one she uses every day — if I had forbidden the use of an untested rig — if I had waited until all the safeties were in place — if I had told someone before, well, before it happened — if I had been where I was supposed to be, watching over them.' Nate sighed. 'If, if, if. I've always hated that game,' he said softly to himself.

Sophie had quietly entered the bar, catching the last of what Nate had said aloud. 'Well,' she remarked, 'it's nice to see you taking responsibility. For a change.'

Nate opened his mouth to answer her, but before he could, the bartender came forward again. 'Nate, what'll it be? I either pour you another or I wash the glass. It's gettin' on to closing.'

Suddenly, the door slammed open, and Eliot stalked through it, his fierce gaze trained on Nate and a murderous look in his eye. He glanced quickly at Hardison.

'Hardison, I wasn't through talkin' to you, man, but right now I see somebody else I need to talk to.'

He addressed the bartender. 'Go on home, Dez,' he said curtly. 'I'll close up tonight.'

The bartender didn't argue. He simply gathered his things and slipped out, closing the door softly behind him.

Eliot purposely stood too close to Nate, well aware that he was invading the other man's personal space.

'We need to talk,' he said in a low growl.

'Talk or hit, Eliot?'

Eliot raised his eyebrows menacingly, and spoke in a voice that was both cold and deadly quiet. 'Oh, I like that second choice.' He moved in closer to Nate, fists clenched.

Sophie laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. She could feel his muscles twitching beneath her fingers; he was furious, primed and ready for a fight. The self-control he so often spoke of didn't seem to be in evidence.

'Eliot,' she started, gently.

Eliot retained his stance, refusing to look at her. He never took his eyes off Nate. 'You have ten seconds to say something to convince me not to kill you.' His voice was strained as he spoke to the mastermind.

Sophie gasped. 'Eliot. _Don't do this. Please_. Listen to me, Eliot. You're not that man. Not anymore.'

Eliot ignored her; his eyes continued to burn into Nate. He was counting to ten in his head. As far as Nate could tell, he had reached six when the mastermind spoke.

'Appreciate you stepping in to save me, Sophie,' Nate said dryly, clearly uncertain if humor was appropriate in this circumstance. His eyes had never left Eliot's, and his next words were aimed directly at the hitter.

'I'm not drunk, Eliot. In fact, I've only had the one drink.' He turned the glass in front of him upside down, and banged it once or twice on the counter, considering what to say next. The whole story had to be told, he knew that, and when Eliot heard it, he might still exact a reckoning from the mastermind, but he was safe for the moment, as the hitter stood still as a statue, listening.

When Nate didn't continue, Eliot growled in exasperation. 'Keep talkin'.'

'I'll admit, I came down to the bar this morning with the intention of getting drunk — not because I wasn't taking this job seriously, or because I meant to abandon any of you.' He broke off, and a pained expression crossed his face. He mumbled something they couldn't quite hear, and stared at the floor.

'What was that?' Eliot growled, not willing to let him off the hook before he bore the blame for what he had done.

'I did it because,' he paused, wondering if he could make any of them understand. 'Because I wasn't sure I could survive this particular day without being drunk.'

His voice was as close to panic as they'd probably ever hear it, and he studied the grain of the wood beneath his feet. Suddenly, what Nate wasn't saying hit Eliot like a ton of bricks, and all of the anger leached out of him.

'Why didn't you tell us, Nate?' he said, in a voice that was considerably gentler than it had been a moment ago.

The mastermind shook his head, looking as though he had aged ten years during their conversation. The hitter took a step back and dropped a hand on his friend's shoulder.

The reality of the situation hadn't escaped the hitter, who had survived for so long because of his ability to read people. Eyes narrowed, he stepped up on his friend once again.

'Wait — you're saying you came down here to get drunk, but you didn't, even in light of what you just told us? Why not?'

'That would be because of what happened when I got down here.'


	12. Chapter 12

**EARLIER IN THE DAY**

Nate moved unsteadily downstairs, nursing the hangover that threatened to make his head explode. He had already had two drinks, in a desperate, if somewhat misguided attempt to make the symptoms of the hangover bearable. As much as he wanted another, he knew what he had to do later today, and he couldn't afford to be off his game — not even a little bit. He hoped a walk might help, so he moved down the back stairs, into the corridor separating the dining area of the brew pub from the back room, where the team met, and stopped at the door to that room, thinking. A moment later, he pushed on the door that opened to the alley and started to walk outside. Before he could complete the action, there were two big thugs on either side of him, pinning his arms behind his back.

Briefly, he considered his options. His first instinct was to call for help. He hadn't yet put his ear bud in his ear, hoping to clear his head before doing so. The con didn't start for another two hours, so he had thought there would be plenty of time for that later. He didn't even have a cell phone on him, and didn't want to think about what the two men holding him would do if he tried to reach into a pocket to take it out. Probably squeeze the stuffing out of him, though by the feel of things, they were doing a fairly good job of that already.

One thing to be grateful for anyway — the adrenaline flowing through his system curbed the ferocious headache and cleared the violently blurry vision that had ailed him since he awoke. Just as his vision cleared, something cold and squishy dropped into the pit of his stomach when he saw the man who stepped out of the shadows before him.

'Hello, Nate,' said the well-dressed man. _Sterling!_

Instantly on his guard, the mastermind's voice dripped acid when he asked, 'What do you want, Sterling?'

'Interpol sent me to investigate intel we received that an arsonist we've been watching may set a fire somewhere nearby today. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?'

'Really, Sterling? Arson? Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do. Do you really think I'd be involved in something like arson?'

'No, actually. I thought you might have your team investigating something like a suspected arson for one of your clients. I came here to offer a friendly warning. If you or your team are with the firebug when the dust settles, I won't stop to sort out the innocent from the guilty.'

'You're barking up the wrong tree, Sterling. My team's not investigating anything having to do with arson. If you'll have your goons release me and tell me the exact location of this suspected fire, I'll be sure to warn my team not to get in your way.'

Sterling snapped his fingers, and the two men at Nate's side released him.

Nate looked at Sterling expectantly, but the other man shook his head. 'We don't know the exact location.'

Not knowing what else to say or do, Nate started to walk away, fingering the ear bud in his pocket as he considered putting it in.

'Oh, no. I think I'll have you stay here with me while my men trace down the exact location, just to be sure.'

'Well, since you are insisting on holding me, there is something you can do for me.' With that, the mastermind leaned forward and began speaking in a rapid fire manner, in a low voice.

 **PRESENT TIME**

'I don't believe this. Sterling held you all day?' Eliot felt his anger building again, but this time it was aimed in a different direction.

'Pretty much. When the fire started in the building, Sterling rushed us both over there, hoping to find evidence that we were somehow involved, no doubt. He left two of his agents to watch me, but I took advantage of the distraction and slipped away while their backs were turned. Came back here. Sterling will probably show up here eventually. I put in my ear bud in time to hear Hardison and Eliot discussing Parker's fall and going to her rescue.'

Here he paused for a moment, appraising his team. 'Listen to me — all of you. I'm really proud of the way you all conducted yourselves today. You really banded together and took care of business in my absence. You stuck to the plan and followed through, and you were ready for any contingencies. I'm proud of you. I'm also exhausted, so let's get out of here before Sterling shows up.'

'Too late,' Sophie said, gazing at the door. Eliot took a step forward, but Nate laid a hand on his arm. The hand was a silent command, and it was one Eliot answered with a low growl, deep in his throat.

'Sterling,' Nate said for the second time that day, while Eliot's gaze simply burned into him.

'Nate. I told you to stick around until we could clear you.'

'And I told you we had nothing to do with the fire or any type of investigation for it. The facts of the case bore that out, I trust.'

'This time. You know, one of these days, Nate, you're going to make a mistake, and all this,' he glanced around the brewpub dining room, 'will come crashing down around you.'

'I'll take my chances. Now, if there's nothing else, Sterling, I'm leaving. I've had a rather long day.'

He started for the door, when Sterling's voice caught up to him. 'It wasn't our arsonist at all... just a disgruntled housewife trying to get back at her husband for cheating on her... just thought you'd like to know.'

'Thanks, Nate called back over his shoulder as he kept walking, right through the dining room and into the back room, followed by Sophie and Hardison. Eliot was still standing toe to toe with Sterling, staring at him as though trying to determine which part of the man he wanted to break first. Sterling stared back, but he couldn't help swallowing slightly harder than normal. When Eliot didn't make a move to touch him, he stepped back and then disappeared through the front door and out into the night.

Slowly, Eliot turned to follow the rest of the team, upstairs to check on Parker. With luck, she would still be sleeping.


	13. Chapter 13

After checking on Parker, the rest of the team had finally, one by one, made their way to bed. Eliot was lingering a bit, wanting to talk to Nate alone. For once, Sophie didn't stay the night in Nate's apartment, but as none of them really wanted to be far from one another tonight, she stayed in her own apartment. Somehow, tonight, the other way just didn't seem right.

Nate sat down at the table in the back room, completing the file for this job, and Eliot walked over and leaned on the counter-top next to him.

'How ya doin,' boss?' he asked quietly.

That lost look crossed behind his eyes again for a moment, then it was gone. He sighed, a long, deep, tired sigh — the sigh of an old man. 'I'm getting too old for this,' he said, treating the younger man to a sideways glance. 'Are you still mad at me?' he asked, after a moment.

'Naw, man. I'm glad you're okay. Why don't you go on to bed? I'll keep watch tonight. I never sleep much anyway.'

Sounding very much like a little lost boy, Nate said, 'Because I want a drink more than anything right now, and I don't want to take one — not like this. I don't want to be drunk every year on Sam's birthday and the anniversary of his death. If I go to bed, that drink will be all I think about — until thoughts of it consume me, and I end up down here three or four hours from now.'

His voice shook on the last part, no matter how he tried to keep it steady.

'All right, then, my friend, we'll do this together.'

Eliot slid into one of the chairs next to the mastermind, squeezing a shoulder gently as he did so. The two men sat in those same places for the rest of the night, occasionally reminiscing about some event or other in their shared lives or in their lives before the team was formed. Nate talked about Sam and Eliot let him. When the sun finally topped the trees towering over Portland, pushing away the shadows, the two rose and made their way to bed.

Parker, relaxing on a chaise lounge on the porch balcony, was swiftly recovering. Hardison faithfully attended to her every need. Her broken fibula, expertly set by Eliot and encased in a splint, was propped up on pillows alongside its neatly stitched partner. The separated shoulder was healing on its own; Parker had to wear a sling which she hated and surreptitiously slipped off whenever she thought she could get by with it. Her eyesight had cleared; the slight concussion no longer affected her.

The only thing that bothered Parker now was the condition of her hands. The elevator cable had left cuts in the palm and on a few of her fingers; some of which had required stitching. Both hands were swollen and sore.

For this job, however, there remained just one more thing to do and Parker was determined to do it. She instructed Hardison to pull two pairs of latex gloves over her bandaged hands and strap tape around the wrists to keep her wounds clean. Hardison brought her backpack to her along with a low table and other equipment. He removed the soft leather bag within that had cushioned her fall. In a weird sense, Denise's father had saved her from more serious injuries. Parker was grateful to the old fellow so as she prepared to complete the last step of the job, she talked to him as if he were sitting in front of her. Hardison, listening, wondered if maybe she'd cracked her head, after all.

'Here we go, Mr. Resharde,' she said. 'You'll be much more comfortable after I get these _hot rocks_ out of your ash. I didn't say ass, I said _ash_. And not _hot_ as in your crematorium. Hot as in _stolen_. We'll take care of that for you.'

On the low table set beside Parker's couch was a large basin topped by a fine mesh screen. Parker patiently, gently and reverently took a spoonful of ash at a time and allowed it to sift down through the mesh. She dusted the stones that were caught by the mesh with a clean, soft makeup brush and set them aside. Hardison remained for a time, watching her, then his bile began to rise and he had to excuse himself.

'Big baby,' said Parker under her breath.

It took most of the day for Parker to separate the cremains from the precious stones buried within the gray depths. After removing the mesh screen, she carefully did a manual check to ensure she hadn't missed any stones. Hardison poked his head through the door to ask if she wanted a glass of milk, saw Parker with her gloved fingers in the bowl of human ashes and once again had to run down the hall to the bathroom.

When Parker had completed her task, Jacques Resharde's mortal remains were respectfully re-interred in a new urn courtesy of Leverage Inc., sealed and ready to return to its rightful owner.

Hardison took the cleaned stones; diamonds, rubies, a few pearls and emeralds - along with melted blobs of gold and silver - and attempted to match them to the pictures their client Denise Resharde had provided while Parker took a well-deserved nap.


	14. Chapter 14

When it could be arranged to meet their client, Nate brought a jeweler's bag and the photos. He spread the gems out carefully on a plush jeweler's scarf.

'Denise, it's unfortunate that we couldn't return your mother's jewelry to you in its original form. Anika had already destroyed the pieces,' said Nate. 'Hardison here, using the photos you provided and with Parker's help, picked out the stones that were most likely hers. Perhaps you'd like to have them reset. Since the other stolen stones are untraceable, we can't return them to the original owners, so we sold some to pay for a dignified funeral for your father so he can be interred alongside your mother. And here,' he continued, white-gloved hands respectfully holding a shiny new brass urn, 'are the earthly remains of your father, Jacques Resharde.'

Denise took the urn. It had been engraved with her father's name. 'Oh, Mr. Ford! I can't thank you enough! 'But…what did you find out about the will?'

'The document you got a copy of from Anika?' Nate paused for effect. 'It's a _forgery_. We found the original will in the safe and verified the signature - it matched some older documents your father had signed. If not for your help, we wouldn't have been able to verify it. Anika simply forged your father's name onto a new document, paid somebody to witness it and had it notarized. As you can see, the original document predates your father's marriage to Anika. Leaves everything to you.'

'And…Anika?'

'She's in possession of a stack of blank paper in an official-looking, sealed envelope. I was hoping she could use it to record her impressions of the inside of a jail cell. Unfortunately, she's back in Denmark, out of the reach of American justice. However, Parker hinted to me that justice might prevail after all. She wouldn't enlarge upon that fact; Parker can be extremely secretive at times.'

'I don't care. Just so long as I don't have to lay eyes on her ever again…' Denise set the urn carefully on the bar, turned and hugged Nate fiercely, sobbing her thanks in his ear. He patted her back.

'They helped, too, you know,' he said, indicating Hardison and Sophie. 'In fact, it's them you should be thanking… not me.'

Denise turned to each of them, wiping her eyes, unable to speak. Hardison shook her hand and Sophie gave her a gentle embrace.

'Tell Parker I said thank you. And… the other guy… what was his name?'

'His name is Eliot. We will,' he assured her.

Denise gathered the bag of gems, the photos and the urn and after one last wave, went out the door and back to her own life.

Sophie turned to Nate. 'Those untraceable gems… did Denise get all of them? I mean, I hate to sound mercenary, but did we realize any profit?' asked Sophie.

'I split the profits fifty-fifty: Denise wanted her mother's jewelry, and she got that. She wanted her father buried and she got that. And Hardison deposited the rest of the half I gave her into her account. By the way, thank you, Hardison.'

'Age of the geek, baby!' the Hacker grinned.

'Half… so… that's… according to Hardison's earlier appraisal… about twenty-eight and a half million? That's our take?' asked Sophie, incredulously.

Nate nodded. 'Five-point-seven million each. There's a lot of money in diamonds.'

'That's the kind of pro bono work I _like_ ,' Hardison grinned.

'I was rather surprised, myself. I.Y.S. didn't come across insurance fraud involving _loose_ gems very often, and then in today's market I wasn't sure of their worth. Also, the size of that funerary urn was a factor. Had no idea how much that would hold. So, yes, I was as surprised as you are. We'll have to gravitate toward jobs with diamond thieves more than we've been doing, don't you think?' Nate said with a grin.

Snuggling in bed that evening, Parker, injured legs cushioned and elevated, kissed and cuddled with Hardison. He leaned back with a happy sigh and picked up the TV remote. Parker reached out and took it from him.

'What, you don't want to watch TV?'

'I just wanted to say I'm glad we've made up, Hardison. I'm sorry I got so angry.'

'Me, too, Babe. Sorry I tried to crimp your style.'

'You can't expect me to be something I'm not. But I see now what can go wrong, and if it'll make you feel better I'll be more careful. I see what you mean about…what law was that?'

'Murphy's,' he grinned. 'No more than an urban legend. But, baby girl, I'm the one you should blame for you falling.'

'I don't blame you. It was an accident. You nearly fell, yourself.'

Hardison reached over and took the remote from Parker's bandaged hand. 'Let's just…anyway, until we can…uh…have some pretzels…let's just watch a little TV, ok?'

'Okay,' Parker purred.

Hardison ran the channels, looking for something worth watching. 'That!' Parker exclaimed, sitting up. 'That looks like the fire. Isn't it?'

'Fox 12 news. Dang sure is, woman. Wanna see it?'

'Yeah.'

Hardison turned up the volume.

 _'A one-alarm fire is under control tonight at an upscale apartment building in downtown Portland. It has been determined that arson was the cause of the blaze and a suspect, a woman, has been apprehended. I believe we have some footage from when she was arrested earlier this evening…'_

The footage ran in the lower right hand corner of the screen. A woman could be heard screaming; upon seeing the news crew, she wrestled with the police officer who was trying to detain and cuff her. She fought her way to the microphone to tell the world:

 _'He deserved it! That son of a *_ bleep* _had it coming! How dare he bring another woman into our apartment?! Into our bed?! He's the one you should be arresting! Not me! If I'd had enough gasoline I'd've doused_ both _of them with it! Now he's gonna have to move!'_

She actually grabbed the mike out of the hands of the reporter and, looking full into the camera, addressed the former object of her affections. _'You hear me, you_ *bleep-bleep-bleep _*?! That apartment's_ mine _now! I see you around here again I'll torch you good! You just wait! Let GO of me!'_ she screamed as the police officer dragged her away.

Hardison had watched the report, wide-eyed; now he muted the television. Anything else, even a horror flick, would seem tame after that. He turned to Parker who had a strange smirk on her pixie face. It set him wondering. He leaned back, looking at her, clearing his throat.

'Parker? We, uh…we got a better relationship than that, don't we? You'd never set me on fire, would you, Babe?'

Parker cocked her head; that strange smirk remained. She shoved Hardison playfully. 'Of _course_ not!'

Hardison decided it was better just to go to sleep. He keyed off the TV and pecked Parker on the cheek in the dark. He wondered if perhaps it was safer to leave the light on.


	15. Chapter 15

**TWO DAYS LATER**

Back in Copenhagen at last, comfortably seated on a leather-covered couch in the private office of her lover, Anika Resharde née Hansen waited patiently. A large, bulging, rather worn carpetbag, still wearing its check tag from the airport, lay at her feet. She glanced down at it, thinking she really should get something newer, perhaps something on wheels that wouldn't be so difficult to carry. One of those little zippered carry-ons would be perfect. The urn would fit. She was about to open the envelope she had received from Sophie to peruse the contents while she waited when the door opened. It was only the secretary with shotglass of Akvavit on a tray which she offered to Anika. Anika thanked the woman; they exchanged a few pleasantries in Danish and she went back to her desk. Anika replaced the envelope in her carry-on. There was plenty of time for all that later.

Another few minutes passed, then the sound of the outer door closing and deep male voices heralded Milan's arrival. Anika bolted the Akvavit and set the glass aside. Presently, the door opened. Milan Ševo was an impressive man, tall, darkly handsome, dressed in a black pinstripe suit with a diamond tie clasp securing his red silk tie. A spotless white triangle peeked from his suit pocket. Two of his associates accompanied him. Anika rose and offered her hand. He took it gently in his massive one and kissed it. Leaning in, his lips grazed her cheek.

'Så godt at se dig igen, Anika.'  
 _[So good to see you again, Anika.]_

'Hej, Milan.'  
[ _Hello, Milan.]_

'Var du succes med at bringe vores forsendelse?'  
[ _Were you successful in bringing us another shipment?]_

'Ja, jeg var… jeg har i hvert fald en halv million ædelstene og stykker, nogle guld...alle ikke-sporbare.'  
 _[Yes, I was… I have at least a half million_ _in gems and pieces, some gold…_ a _ll non-traceable.]_

Milan nodded, pleased. He accepted the carpetbag she held out to him and handed it over to one of his associates. He then stepped behind his desk, pressed a button and the library shelves on the back wall swung inward. Milan motioned Anika through the passageway with a courtly gesture. He and his associates followed her through a hidden door that connected to a laboratory and workroom. Someone hit the lights.

On a table in the center of the room rested a high-sided stainless steel pan equipped with a finely meshed sieve top and a box of latex gloves. One of the men set the carpetbag on the floor, opened it and extracted the large urn inside. He set it carefully beside the pan. As one, the men donned gloves and fitted masks over their noses and mouths to avoid breathing in particles of human ash. Anika also donned a mask.

Milan divested himself of his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Very carefully, he removed the lid of the urn and very slowly, tipped it toward the deep tray, allowing the contents of the urn to emerge. There was more dust than he anticipated, more dust than any other such shipment Anika had brought him, and there had been several. One of the other men took a slightly dampened towel and held it tent-like over the urn and the tray to contain the gray cloud. Oddly, a scent reminiscent of chlorophyll filled the air. Milan was puzzled.

'Hvad er det? Dette er ikke, hvordan aske skal lugte!' Milan exclaimed.  
 _[What is this? This is not how cremains should smell!]_

Under the damp tent of towel, Milan shook the last of the material from the urn. He waited a moment for the dust to settle then motioned the man to remove the towel.

Something didn't look right. Resting on top of the wire mesh sieve was a strange looking gray mass of course, uniformly grained matter from which the same pleasant aroma of chlorophyll arose. Interspersed in it were what looked like plastic beads in all shapes, sizes and colors with purple, yellow and green predominating. Each bead had a small hole in the center.

Milan swirled a gloved finger through them in disbelief. Anika took a step back, horrified. _This is not the shipment I packed! What happened?_ she thought wildly. _Where are the jewels? There were diamonds, rubies, emeralds, precious and semi-precious stones of all shapes and sizes and colors, all worth a fortune! Where did this come from? How did this happen?!_

As if he read her mind, Milan demanded to know, 'Hvad skete der? Hvad er det?!'  
 _[What happened? What is this?!]_

He continued to paw through the pile of beads, groping, stirring up dust, looking in vain for anything of value. One large bead came to the surface with a white plastic tag attached to it. On the tag were words, engraved in gold paint - and in English. Glowering, he picked up the bead and thrust it at Anika, demanding that she translate it. _Now._ She took it in a trembling hand and in a shaky voice, she complied:

 _Happy Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday!_  
 _Drinks are free at_  
 _LaFitte's_  
 _for the first five minutes_  
 _of Happy Hour!_

One of Milan's associates pinched some of the 'ash' between his thumb and forefinger, smelled it and ground it between his fingers, letting it fall back onto the gray pile. He looked at his boss and sent a thundering scowl at Anika.

'Hvad er det?' Milan demanded to know, although he already knew. _[What is it?]_

'Det er cat strøelse, boss. Intet men plasticperler og cat strøelse.'  
 _[It's cat litter, Boss. Nothing but plastic beads and cat litter.]_

As one, the three men turned and stared balefully at Anika. Milan ripped the gloves from his hands and threw them in the middle of the worthless gray pile. He barked an order to his associates, who stalked menacingly toward Anika, effectively closing her in. She began backing away, looking for an escape, but there was none. Her back was to the wall. As Milan withdrew a pistol from his shoulder holster and attached the silencer, she looked from one man to the other, protesting, begging, shaking in fear.

'Milan! Milan! Der må være en fejl! Jeg gjorde det ikke! Jeg havde…der var diamanter… rubiner… smaragder… alt i denne urne! Alle for dig, Milano! Der må være en fejl! Åh, nej! Det fejl! Det fejl…! Milan! Bemærk!'  
 _[Milan! Milan! There must be some mistake! I did not do this! I had…there were diamonds …rubies …emeralds …everything in that urn! All for you, Milan! There must be some mistake! Oh, no, please! It's a mistake! It's a mistake…! Milan! PLEASE!]_

The End


End file.
